


I Can Say The Sun Burns Much Brighter Today

by Kajmere



Category: Captain America (Movies)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Bearded Steve Rogers, Blizzards & Snowstorms, Captain America Steve Rogers/Modern Bucky Barnes, Fluff, Fluff and Humor, Gift Fic, Humor, M/M, Meet-Cute, Misunderstandings, Post-Captain America: Civil War (Movie)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-23
Updated: 2018-12-23
Packaged: 2019-09-25 07:54:05
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,919
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17117432
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kajmere/pseuds/Kajmere
Summary: Over the years, Steve has learned to choose his battles wisely when it comes to arguing with Natasha. So, when she hands him a set of keys and says they’re dropping him off at one of her secure locations in the middle of Steve-can’t-even-remember, Europe, for a few days of rest, he puts up a fight for all of thirty seconds before resigning with a sigh.





	I Can Say The Sun Burns Much Brighter Today

**Author's Note:**

  * For [fannishlove](https://archiveofourown.org/users/fannishlove/gifts).



> My Secret Santa gift for [Fannishlove](https://archiveofourown.org/users/fannishlove)! Merry Christmas! Hope you enjoy <33
> 
> Thank you to the wonderful [NurseDarry](https://archiveofourown.org/users/NurseDarry/profile) for being our Glow Cloud and beta.

Over the years, Steve has learned to choose his battles wisely when it comes to arguing with Natasha. So, when she hands him a set of keys and says they’re dropping him off at one of her secure locations in the middle of Steve-can’t-even-remember, Europe, for a few days of rest, he puts up a fight for all of thirty seconds before resigning with a sigh.  
  
“Sam and I got this,” she had said. “You are no good to us dead on your feet.”  
  
Sometimes he’s sure she knows him better than he knows himself, because when Steve thinks about it, he can’t remember the last time he’s slept since they left Wakanda.  
  
It feels like a lifetime ago since he sent Tony that phone, and the three of them had set out on their own.  
  
A few days has turned into a week, because things got a little more out of hand than expected, or so said Sam, during their last Skype call. But Steve was reassured, it was nothing they couldn’t handle.  
  
In that week, Steve didn’t do a whole lot other than sleep, and when he wasn’t sleeping, he found himself thinking way too much. He can’t remember the last time he’s been alone for such a long period, and he can’t say he much cares for it. Being alone with his thoughts, he starts to questions himself. Starts regretting things, too. Not because of the choice he’d made by not agreeing with the Accords. He will stand by those beliefs through and through. But the decision to leave his team… to leave his friends, his family, that’s really starting to settle in.  
  
Sure, he had Natasha and Sam along with him, they’re his family. He didn’t have a choice in that matter. _When do we leave?_ And that was that.  
  
It’s that domestic life they’ve left behind that he’s starting to miss. The familiarity of living inside each other's pockets, planning team meals or mandatory movie nights. Sitting in Tony’s lab while he and Bruce talked about science, and being annoyed when baddies decided to ruin their Sundays by trying to take over Manhattan.  
  
When did things get so complicated?

  
  
***  
  
  
On the eighth day he wakes up to sunshine filtering through the curtains of the bedroom, and he decides he wants to go exploring. He texts Natasha to send him some places to check out, and she sends back a list of all her favorite haunts.  
  
He briefly hesitates as he steps out into the crisp morning air clad in a ball cap, hoodie, jeans, and a backpack, wondering if he’ll be recognized. His face hasn’t graced the cover of a newspaper on this side of the world in quite a while, and he knows the beard he’s sporting fools Sam at the best of times.  
  
It's a short walk to the center of town, and Steve can help chuckling to himself, thinking why Nat chose such a populated destination in which to have a safe house. _Hiding in plain sight, Rogers_. Of course, she would have a beautiful scenic place stashed away.  
  
So that's how he found himself wandering around the town playing tourist; taking photos of obscure buildings, sitting in quaint cafes, eating delicious food, and drinking some of the best coffee he's ever had in his life.  
  
He sends photos to Sam, and all he gets back is a string of emojis. Heart-eyes, heart-eyes, thumbs up.  
  
One of the places Nat had mentioned on her list was a mountain hike with a breathtaking view of the town, which is nestled at the base of a valley. He buys a map and decides that's what he will do the following day.  
  
That was his plan anyway.  
  
Sometime around midnight, it started to snow. By morning, it’s a full-blown blizzard, and Steve gets a message from Nat saying they’ll be a few more days, which is fine, he tells them to be safe, and settles in again.  
  
He hasn’t seen snow like this since he was a kid. Or at least he hasn’t paid attention enough to appreciate it. Thick, muted flakes, falling by the thousands; he can barely see ten feet out his window.  
  
It's mesmerizing. He’s been watching for what feels like hours. The town is slowly disappearing under a blanket of white and darkness, as the barely visible sun sets behind the mountains.  
  
There is a crash outside his door, and Steve is up on his feet in a split second, thinking the worst.  
  
They’ve found him.  
  
His shield is in the bedroom, why is it in the bedroom? He should always have it within arm’s reach. Jesus Christ, Steve, you aren’t actually on vacation, you are an international fugitive, wanted by multiple government agencies.  
  
He hears a string of curses, followed by a loud bang, and braces himself for a fight.  
  
That doesn’t come.  
  
Slowly, Steve stands up and stares at his door, that isn’t bashed in, the apartment isn’t swarming with agents, and he isn’t quite sure what to do.  
  
So he listens, listens to the continuing cursing and banging that’s not at his door.  
  
He relaxes a fraction and goes to investigate.  
  
Opening his door, Steve peers out into the hallway and sees a man slumped against the door next to his, forehead pressed against it, staring down at his phone.  
  
Stepping out into the hallway, Steve takes in more of what he’s seeing; the guy is soaked, snow still lingering on the top of his head, and little droplets of water dripping from the ends of his chin-length hair. He doesn’t have any luggage, which is weird, considering these places, according to Nat, are mostly timeshares (whatever that means).  
  
Throughout Steve’s entire stay, up until now, he hasn’t had neighbors on either side of him that he’s been aware of, so either this guy is new, or he's the quietest person Steve has ever been in the vicinity of with his serum-enhanced hearing.  
  
Steve is going with the former.  
  
Steve lets out a small chuckle; he doesn’t really know why. Relief, he supposes. There’s no pending fight, he’s safe. He hasn’t been made. No one in town has seen him and put two and two together that he’s the superhero every agency in the world wants to lock up.  
  
He stands there staring for a moment longer; then the guy lolls his head towards Steve and slips his phone into his pocket.  
  
“Something funny, pal?” the guy asks in English with a definite American accent.  
  
“No,” Steve says, but he knows he’s smiling in amusement.  
  
“Uh-huh,” the guy says, pushing himself off the door, standing tall, maybe an inch or two shorter than Steve, and squaring himself off. Steve notices the muscles in his jaw twitching as he raises an eyebrow and smiles thinly.  
  
Oh, no, Steve knows that look, hell, Steve invented that look. If he doesn't set the record straight in the next thirty seconds, he's going to be socked a good one.  
  
“Wooooah, hey,” Steve says, putting up his hands in surrender. “You startled me is all.”  
  
The guy deflates just as quickly. “Sorry,” he says, “it's been a long day.”  
  
He goes on to tell Steve, very animatedly, how his flight was delayed because of this storm, which wasn’t supposed to be this bad. How the airline lost his luggage and how his rental car got stuck getting up the hill up to this place, so he’s had to walk a half mile in the snow, hence his current state of looking like a drowned rat.  
  
Steve doesn’t interrupt, he just leans against the hall wall and lets this guy get it all out. It’s quite cute actually, the way he talks with his hands and frustratedly brushes his wet hair behind his ears.  
  
“... and to top it all off,” he says, kicking the door. “They left me the wrong keys, which is just fucking fantastic!”  
  
“Did you call the owner?” Steve finally asks.  
  
“My phone just died,” the guy says, looking over at Steve again and giving him a sheepish smile, one that speaks without words just how fucking done he is.  
  
“Man, if I had the kind of luck you’re having, I’d be ready to punch the first person to look at me the wrong way, too.”  
  
“I am really sorry about that.”  
  
“No hard feelings,” Steve says, then he makes a split-second decision and invites the guy into his apartment. “Come on, come get your phone charged, have a shower if you want, while you wait.” He pushes open his door, and beckons the man inside.  
  
“I look that bad, huh?”  
  
Steve laughs. “You look like someone who just went through all that shit you told me, and a hot shower might be the best thing in the world right now.”  
  
“Yeah, and a nap,” he says as he enters Steve’s place. “Not that I’m going to nap, I just need one. I’ll get my shit sorted out and be out of your hair as soon as possible.”  
  
“Couch is all yours if you want it. I’m thinking the owner won’t be trekking up here tonight to get your whole key thing cleared up.”  
  
“Why do I feel like you’re right on that.”  
  
“Because I’m a smart guy. Here give me your phone, I’ll plug it in. The bathroom is over there,” he points, “I’ll get a towel and a change of clothes for you. They might be a little, ah, big, but we’ll be able to get yours into the dryer.”  
  
The guy gives Steve the thumbs up and heads to the bathroom. He turns on the water, and Steve hands him a clean towel and a pair of his sweatpants and a t-shirt.  
  
“What's your name, by the way?” Steve asks. He’s surprised with himself that he hadn’t asked sooner.  
  
“I will formally introduce myself once I’m feeling a little more like myself,” the guy says and shuts the door.  
  
Steve’ll take that; it's not that the name matters, he’s just trying to do a nice thing for someone who’s down in the dumps. Although Steve has to admit to himself, it’s pretty good timing. He was starting to grow antsy. All the alone time, while it's been nice to relax, had begun to give Steve a bit of cabin fever. Meeting this random, albeit, really cute stranger in the middle of a snowstorm is probably the best thing to happen to Steve in quite some time.  
  
While the guy showers, Steve busies himself in the kitchen, turning the kettle on. He’d bought some hot chocolate mix from one of the tourist shops the other day that’s labeled “made from the best Swiss chocolate around!”. He knows how to be a good host, even to a stranger.  
  
Hot chocolate, a snowstorm… It seems like the right thing to do.

 

***

  
  
It feels like no time has passed at all, when the guy steps out of the bathroom, hair slicked back and wet, wearing Steves clothes and looking ridiculously adorable. He’s holding a bundle of his own clothes, as well as the towel Steve had given him. “Where’s your dryer?”  
  
Steve points to the closed closet doors at the other side of the living room and rambles off instructions on how to get the machine started.  
  
Steve tracks him as he makes his way to the small utility room off the kitchen. He can’t help taking in the sight; the way Steve’s shirt is riding up just a fraction, showing off warm pink skin where his too-long, too-big sweatpants hang loosely off the other guy’s hips, bunching around his ankles.  
  
The view is quite a distraction if Steve’s completely honest. He almost forgets he’s pouring scalding hot water in their mugs when the guy stops abruptly in front of Steve's bedroom. Steve hears a sharp intake of breath a second before the guy whips his head around to stare at Steve.  
  
Steve freezes, mid-pour, his eyes darting from his clearly visible shield leaning up against the locker at the foot of his bed, and the guy, assessing. But all the guy does is quirk an eyebrow and fucking smirks.  
  
“Umm,” Steve says, because shit, he’s never been good at the spy game for this exact reason.  
  
They continue to stare at each other for a moment longer.  
  
“Umm,” Steve says again, not sure what to do.  
  
“Nice to meet you, Umm,” the guy says. “I’m Bucky. You got a spare pair of socks? My feet are cold.” He says it like it’s nothing as he continues on his way to the utility area.  
  
Steve stirs the cocoa and watches the guy, Bucky. The back of his mind is waiting for something to happen. Anything. Time slows a fraction as he continues to assess whether or not he needs to spring into action.  
  
Click click, he hears, then the dryer’s kicking on.  
  
Bucky closes the utility room door, spins around on his heel and smiles as he sticks one of his feet up in the air, wiggling his toes at Steve. “Socks?”  
  
Steve snorts, because threat or not, that was adorable.  
  
“Coming right up.”  
  
He heads to his room, watching Bucky out of the corner of his eye as he makes his way to the counter to pick up one of the mugs and blow into it, steam billowing out around his face.  
  
Steve stares into the drawer of socks, pondering longer than probably necessary before he grabs a pair, his warmest, and heads back, closing the bedroom door as he goes.  
  
Bucky takes the tossed socks and sits on the couch. While he puts them on he asks, “Are you really him?”  
  
“Him?”  
  
“Captain America.”  
  
“Nah,” Steve says, sitting down beside Bucky. “I’m just Steve.”  
  
“Nice to meet you, Steve.”  
  
And that was that.  
  
“You can probably guess why I’m here,” Steve says, taking a sip of his drink and savoring the sweetness for a moment. “But what brings you to this place?”  
  
“It’s kind of boring story.” Bucky says.  
  
“Have you looked outside?” Steve asks, looking to the window that has easily a few inches of snow built up on the bottom of the frame. “I don’t think either of us has anything better to do for a while.”  
  
Bucky chuckles. “I guess you’re right.” He turns to face Steve, curling his feet under his thighs, holding his mug between his legs. “I was supposed to come here with a friend; her family is from here, and she always talked so enthusiastically about it. We’ve been talking about taking this trip together since college a few years ago. I’ve never been out of the States and this place sounded perfect for my first trip abroad.”  
  
Steve nods in agreement. It is beautiful here, from what he’s seen so far. It’s busy, sure, but from what he gathers, it isn’t exactly a well-known tourist destination.  
  
“But for some reason or another,” Bucky continues, “our schedules never really aligned. I took an internship, and she had family things going on. It just never worked out. Then out of the blue a few weeks back she emailed me a plane ticket and said we should finally take that trip. I never expected her to pay for anything, so that was a bit of a shock, but all she said was that it was an early Christmas gift, and I wasn’t allowed to argue. If you knew her, you definitely wouldn’t argue.”  
  
Reminds Steve of someone, that's for sure, but he keeps quiet.  
  
“Anyway, I made the arrangements, took time off work, then she texted me a few days ago saying she couldn’t make it, but that I should still go because everything is booked. So here I am.”  
  
“Here you are,” Steve echoes. “It’s kind of nice to have some company. I won’t lie.”  
  
“I’m glad my misfortune is benefiting someone,” Bucky teases, poking Steve in the thigh with one of his feet.  
  
Steve laughs, and grabs Bucky’s foot by instinct because It tickles a little, but he doesn’t ask him to stop. “How long are you here for?”  
  
“Ten days. I have a few must-see places saved on my phone. But other than that, I don’t have anything else planned.”

  
  
***  
  
  
They talk well into the evening. Steve, ever thankful that he didn’t have to talk a whole lot about himself, except for a few minutes where he has to defend himself from being recognized so easily. All in good nature, of course. Steve admitting it was a amature move, leaving his shield out in plain sight.    
  
Bucky explains that he would have never in a million years thought Steve was Cap, and compliments him on his beard-growing abilities. He goes on to say how it’s a good look, and how he’s always had a thing for thick soft beards.  
  
“How do you know it’s soft?” Steve asks, absentmindedly rubbing his hand over his beard.  
  
“It looks soft, so in my head it _is_ soft.”  
  
Steve would have to be completely oblivious not to catch the subtle flirtation behind Bucky’s words and tone. He sees the way Bucky’s eyes hone in on his beard like a beacon as he says it, chewing the inside of his lip ever so slightly. It makes Steve’s insides squirm a little, to have someone look at him that way.  
  
It’s nice. Steve likes it, and he decides in that moment to see where this’ll go. “You want to find out for yourself?”  
  
“Yes.” Bucky says without hesitation, like he had been hoping for the invite. He puts his mug down on the table and reaches towards Steve, stroking the back of his hand down Steve’s cheek.  
  
Steve closes his eyes for a second and lets out a shallow sigh, enjoying the sensation as Bucky repeats the motion a few more times the pulls his hand away.  
  
“Does it live up to your expectation?” Steve asks, slightly breathless. He hadn’t realized a simple innocent touch like that would have such an affect on him.  
  
From the looks of it, he’s not the only one, if the way Bucky’s eyes darken a fraction has anything to do with it.  
  
Bucky nods. “Yeah. Yeah it sure does.”  
  
“Good, because I think I’m going to be keeping it for a while.”  
  
Midway through laughing, Bucky yawns then curses. Steve sees his eyes water a little, and realizes what time it is. It's not all that late, but late enough, considering Bucky hasn’t slept in god knows how long.  
  
Both their hot cocoa has long since been finished. Steve decides to call it a night. Bucky humm’s his agreement and yawns again.  
  
As much as Steve would like to see where this flirtation is going, if anywhere, they can pick it up again tomorrow, once they’re both rested.  
  
He gets a spare blanket and pillow from the closet to give to Bucky, who happily takes them, as well as the throw blanket on the back on the couch and settles in, making himself comfortable.  
  
“Thanks for letting me crash here,” Bucky says, flopping his head down on the pillow.  
  
Steve makes his way to his room, flick off the lights. “You’re welcome.  
  
  
***  
  
  
In the morning, Steve wakes to the smell of coffee, and the sound of Bucky talking to someone.  
  
He stretches, not quite ready to get out of bed yet. The sun’s heat filtering through the window feels nice, so he lies there for a while longer and listens to the one-sided conversation Bucky is having. Judging by the frustration in his tone, Bucky’s situation isn’t going to be cleared up anytime soon, which does suck, but Steve can’t help wanting to spend a little more time with Bucky, so maybe it’ll all work itself out in the end.  
  
When the smell of coffee becomes overwhelming, Steve decides to get up. He stops short just inside his bedroom door, because there Bucky is, bent over the island, probably typing away on his phone. He’s shirtless; although he’s still wearing Steve’s sweatpants and socks, and Steve can’t help wanting to walk up behind Bucky, and hug him, wrap his arms around his waist, pull him close, and kissing the back of his neck.  
  
Christ.    
  
“Sleep well?” Steve asks, instead, making his presence knows as he heads to the cupboard that holds the coffee mugs.  
  
Bucky grunts and doesn’t answer immediately still wrapped up in whatever’s he’s doing on his phone. “Yeah, it was a great sleep. God knows I needed it,” he says after a moment, putting his phone down. “Sorry, I’m just trying to figure things out so I can be on my way.”  
  
“There’s no rush,” Steve says, pouring coffee. “There’s no rush at all.”  
  
Bucky visibly deflates. “Yeah?” He asks. “Because it sounds like it might be another day, but at least the airline is sending my luggage here now. I hope that okay.”  
  
“Of course it is. You can stay as long as you need to. No point trying to get a hotel room, when I have a perfectly good couch.” Steve says, _or a perfectly good bed_ , he definitely does not say. He apparently can only think with his dick-brain when he hasn’t had his morning coffee to bring his actual brain online. Not that he’s complaining. It’s been a long time since he’s had these kinds of thoughts.  
  
“When your luggage gets here,” he continues, “if you want to join me, I think I’d like to take a hike up the mountain trail later.”  
  
“Cool, yeah, definitely!” Bucky says enthusiastically, “that’s on my list of must-do’s.”  
  
“It’s a date, then.” Steve says and grabs a box of cereal, “breakfast?”  
  
Bucky nods, and Steve doesn’t miss the smile Bucky tries to hide as he brings his coffee mug to his lips.  
  
They eat their breakfast, Steve wishing he had more around than cereal. He would have loved to have made a proper meal for Bucky, but Bucky isn’t complaining. Still, Steve makes a mental note to pick up stuff for waffles and bacon for tomorrow. He remembers seeing a waffle iron in one of the cupboards when he first arrived here, which was a nice touch, probably left for the foreign guests who stayed here.  
  
Bucky’s luggage arrives while Steve’s in the shower. When he comes out, he finds Bucky rifling through it, pulling out a pair of boots, hat, jeans, and a warm looking blue pea coat.  
  
“I’ll just go change,” Bucky says, and Steve has to hold his tongue because he’s not quite ready for Bucky to change out of his clothes.  
  
That thought exits just a quick as it entered through when he sees Bucky all dressed up in his own, very form-fitting outfit.  
  
Steve is staring, and he knows he’s staring. Bucky looks good. It must show on his face, because Bucky looks down at himself, then back at Steve. “What?” he asks.  
  
“Nothing,” Steve replies. “I like the outfit. It looks good.”  
  
Bucky beams and Steve can’t help mentally high-fiving himself.  
  
“Let's go, punk,” Bucky says.  
  
They make their way to the trail, Bucky walking in front of Steve, trudging through the snowscape, looking like he’s enjoying himself. They’re the first to venture out after the storm, and it feels weirdly intimate. Steve’s probably a little too sentimental and reading way too much into things. But the way Bucky is creating a path for Steve to follow, sliding his boots in the snow, instead of stepping, makes Steve’s heart swell with happiness.  
  
At one point, Bucky turns to look at Steve to speak and loses his footing. Steve reaches out as Bucky tries to grab for something, anything, to help break his fall, and there Steve is, grabbing hold of Bucky’s outstretched arm, only to grab it just in time for Bucky to drag Steve down with him.  
  
One of Steve’s arms braces on the side of Bucky’s face, while his legs land between Bucky’s thighs, their clasped hands intertwined.  
  
They both laugh, Steve, saying he’s sorry just as Bucky’s doing the same, but they don’t move or try to get away from each other. The moment seems to stretch on for an eternity, Steve looking down at Bucky, who’s looking back up at him.  
  
Steve’s breath catches in his throat at the closeness. All he has to do is… lean down and press his lips to Bucky’s.  
  
As that thought crosses his mind, Bucky surges up and kisses Steve. It's quick, real quick, like a test to see how Steve will react, then he pulls back, laying his head back in the snow, waiting.  
  
Steve doesn't make him wait long, though. He quickly files that kiss away, as short as it was, because he wants to remember it, then he’s chasing Bucky’s mouth, looking for more. He makes contact with the corner of Bucky’s mouth first. A little too eager, it seems, and Bucky laughs and brings his hands up to frame Steves face, guiding him where he wants to be.  
  
They kiss for a few moments, close-mouthed, Bucky nipping at Steve’s bottom lip, which drives Steve completely out of his mind.  
  
“We should…” Steve says, a little breathless as he pulls back, remembering that they are very much in public.  
  
“Yeah,” Bucky answers the unasked question with the slightest pout. “Yeah.”  
  
Steve leans back on his knees, pulling at their still intertwined hand, Bucky following easily. Steve brings Bucky’s hand to his lips and kisses it, like a promise before pushing himself up onto his feet, pulling Bucky with him.  
  
Once they’re both upright, Bucky, once again, surges forward and kisses Steve. This time, a little more coordinated. At least a coordinated as it can be for a promise of what’s to come.  
  
They break apart, and Steve can’t help being a little disappointed. He can’t help wanting to spend the rest of the day kissing Bucky.  
  
“I’ve wanted to do that since last night,” Bucky says once he has his mouth back to himself.  
  
“It's the beard, isn’t it?” Steve asks, and Bucky chuckles.  
  
“Yeah... I mean. Yes and no. you were sweet to me, which made me kinda fall for you, but then you let me touch your beard...” Bucky says, trailing off. “And that's when I knew I was done for.”  
  
Steve grips Bucky’s hand tighter, and pulls him a little closer, knowing what he's about to say might sound a little strange. “The second I laid eyes on you, I knew you were something special,” he says, not letting go. “Then you wanted to fight me, and Christ, all I wanted was to let you.”  
  
Bucky laughs again, looking as apologetic as he did last night. He pokes a snow-covered finger at Steve. “You would have let me punch you, wouldn’t you?”  
  
“You know what, I probably would have.”  
  
“You are something else, Rogers.” Bucky says, squeezing Steve’s hand as they continue their hike up the mountain.

  
***

  
The next few hours are some of the best Steve has been able to remember having since he woke up in this century. Truly being able to be himself has been really nice.  
  
Bucky is sweet; he’d known that since last night. He sees Steve as a person, which has been so rare these past few years, outside of Steves close circle of friends.  
  
They talk about silly, pointless things, like favorite foods and movies; first date sort of things, and it makes Steve’s heart sore with happiness.  
  
Bucky talks animatedly about things Steve doesn’t really understand, but that’s okay because they’re still holding hands and Steve files everything Bucky says away as important. Especially because whatever makes Bucky smile, seemingly makes Steve smile, too.  
  
When they finally make it to the top of the mountain, the view is an amazing, and Bucky leans into Steve as they take in the world below them.  
  
“I feel like a giant,” Bucky says.  
  
“I know a giant,” Steve replies. Then goes on to tell Bucky about his encounter with Ant-Man.  
  
“Ant-Man is a giant?”  
  
“Apparently he can shrink or grow to ridiculous sizes. Sixty-five feet tall, or so I’ve been told.”  
  
“Science is incredible,” Bucky says, as though a sixty-five-foot guy is a regular occurrence.  
  
“You have no idea,” Steve says, wrapping an arm around him and pulling him in closer.  
  
Bucky snakes his arms around Steves' torso, squeezing a little. “I do, though. Because you’re here.”  
  
They eventually make their way down the mountain and back to the apartment to find Steve’s door ajar, and for the second time in just as many days, Steve thinks something awful is waiting for him on the other side. Is the place going to be upturned? Will there be a dozen guns trained on him, telling him to get down on his knees?  
  
Instinctively, he puts himself between the door and Bucky as he slowly pushes it open, not wanting to risk whoever it is thinking Bucky is Steve and hurting him.  
  
His eyes scan the room and land on Natasha’s smiling face. She’s sitting on the island countertop, legs crossed, with her tablet on her lap.  
  
“Natalie! You made it!” Bucky exclaims from behind Steve; then he’s rushing towards her. She unfolds herself and hops down off the counter just as Bucky wraps his arms around her, pulling her in for a hug.  
  
“Yeah,” she says, looking over Bucky’s shoulder at Steve. If this is Bucky’s friend, that means… Nat's mouth quirks up into a smirk, just as realization dawns on Steve. He feels his eyes go wide, then he crosses his arms and shakes his head at her. She winks at him; he doesn’t say a word.  
  
“My thing didn’t take as long as I thought,” she continues, leaning back to look at Bucky, still holding onto him. “Good to see you, James.”  
  
“You too!” Bucky says, then quickly gives Nat a recap of the past twenty-four hours. “Luckily, I met a new friend,” he continues, and turns to look at Steve. “Steve this is my friend Natalie. Natalie, this is Steve.”  
  
Steve isn’t about to lie and pretend he doesn’t know her; it’s the last thing he wants to do.  
  
Natasha, as always, is one step ahead of him. “Hi, Steve, good to see you again, too.”  
  
“You know each other?” Bucky asks.  
  
“Yeah,” Natasha says, “We go way back.”  
  
While Steve isn’t sure if Nat’s figured out that Bucky knows his real identity, Steve assumes she’s going to stretch the truth. He knows full well that Nat has had this place long enough to have possibly made friends. But before she can start fishing, Steve tells her that Bucky knows.  
  
“I know?” Bucky asks, “I know what?”  
  
“Who I am,” Steve replies.  
  
“Oh.”  
  
Natasha humms and Steve wonders how much of a shock it will be to Bucky to find out his longtime friend is also the Black Widow.  
  
The three of them stare at each other, or rather, Steve and Natasha stare at each other, while Steve can see out of the corner of his eye that Bucky’s gaze is flickering back and forth between the two of them.  
  
“Wait,” Bucky says, “wait, what?” Bucky’s eyebrows furrow in confusion, and all Steve wants to do is wrap him up and kiss that confused look off his face, as incredibly cute as it is.  
  
“Natalie, or as I know her as, Natasha.” Steve says, “is also my longtime friend and colleague, spy and international fugitive, also known as the Black Widow.”  
  
There is no need to beat around the bush at this point.  
  
Bucky sits down on the floor, right where he’s at, face in hands, just as Sam emerges from the bathroom, steam billowing out behind him.  
  
“Shower felt good!” Sam says and stops short. “Whooooa, what’d I miss?”  
  
“Steve told James who we are,” Nat says, very matter of factly.  
  
“I did not.” Steve retorts, offensively.  
  
“You did!”  
  
“No. I didn’t!”  
  
Bucky looks up at them all, and Sam whistles in astonishment. “Anyone got a knife? I need to cut the tension out of this room.”  
  
“Who are you?” Bucky asks Sam.  
  
“Umm,” Sam says, “Sam?”  
  
“Also known as...?” Bucky asks.  
  
Sam looks at Steve, head cocking to the side, _like what the fuck, man_.  
  
“He’s the Falcon,” Steve says.  
  
“Cool.” Bucky says, rocking a little. “So I’m hanging out with the world's most wanted.”    
He laughs, “Oh my god. Natalie, was this your plan all along?”  
  
Natasha shrugs.  
  
It takes Steve a moment to register what Bucky’s said, the last day playing on fast-forward through his head. Steve, complaining via text to Sam and Nat that he’d been getting antsy. Nat saying they’d be a few days longer. Bucky showing up and conveniently being locked out of the place he where he was supposed to stay. Of course, Steve would do the nice thing and invite Bucky in. Natasha knew it, too.  
  
“Look,” Natasha says, “I planned to be here, James. But I didn’t lie when I said something came up. Steve needed the downtime, and I thought the two of you would be the perfect company.”  
  
“But why did you send me the wrong key?” Bucky asks. “I couldn’t get into the apartment, and I almost punched Steve in the face because he laughed at me!”  
  
“I sent you my spare key,” she says. “It should have unlocked this door fine.”  
  
Bucky snaps his gaze to Steve a second before he’s scrambling up to his feet and grabbing the key off the countertop.  
  
“This door,” Bucky mumble to himself as he makes his way to the front door of the apartment. “THIS DOOR!” he all but screeches.  
  
Sure enough, the key Bucky slides into the lock turns it, no problem. “Oh my god. Steve!”  
  
Steve throws his head back and laughs. Not at Bucky, just at the situation in general. He can’t imagine what he would have done if someone had unlocked his door last night. Jesus, Nat could have at least warned him.  
  
“I sent you a text,” Nat says to Steve, and that's when Steve realizes he hasn’t looked at his phone since the storm had started the day before.  
  
“Uhh. didn’t get it,” he confesses, and to be honest; he’s kind of glad he hadn’t. Getting to know Bucky the past day without any pretense of having to entertain one of Natasha’s friends and lying about himself had been nice.  
  
“The guy has been sending us non-stop touristy photos and texts for days,” Sam says, “and the one time he doesn’t check, he just goes ahead and invites a random stranger into the place, no questions asked.”  
  
“Seems about right,” Natasha says.  
  
“I hate you both,” Steve says.  
  
“In all fairness, I was kinda cute,” Bucky says. “Steve told me so.”  
  
And how could Steve dispute that? He can’t, so he beckons Bucky over to him. Bucky comes willingly and presses his head into Steve’s shoulder. Steve wraps his arms around him, squeezing him close, never wanting to let him go.  
  
“Interesting,” Natasha says, and Steve lifts his hand to give her the middle finger.  
  
“This is all your fault,” Steve says.  
  
“I’m okay with that,” she retorts.  
  
“I think I'm going to need a few more days of this vacation,” Steve says, kissing Bucky’s forehead. Bucky humms his approval. “Think you can manage without me?”  
  
“Aww man,” Sam says, “does this mean I gotta sleep in the Quinjet again!?”  
  
“Nah,” Bucky says, “I think the couch is gonna be free.”  
  



End file.
